The Scorpion and the Fox
by nili-roshan
Summary: Based on the "Scorpion," but has nothing to do with the 8472/Borg dilemma. Kathryn asks Chakotay to be a man. Possibly two-parts. Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.


After dismissing the senior staff and watching them shuffle out onto the bridge, Kathryn turned to Chakotay. He had stood with the rest of the crew, moved halfway down the table and then stopped, his hand coming to rest on the back of the nearest chair before facing her.

"You were unusually quiet," she remarked, preparing herself for what was inevitably going to turn into an argument.

"I didn't want the others to hear this, but I think what you're proposing is too great a risk."

Kathryn dropped her head and hid a sigh. The predictability of it was almost as trying as the discord between them.

Then, breathing in, she straightened her posture and prepared to humour him. A part of her _did_ crave the discussion; after all, she would be lying if she said she was positive that making a deal with the Borg was the right thing to do.

No, she wasn't _positive_, but she was close to it.

It was just enough so that when Chakotay argued against her, she would ultimately pull rank, but she wouldn't feel any better about her decision. The uncertainty would plague her up until the moment her plan was set into action, and then she would stick with it because she had to. It seemed to have become something of a pattern.

"How so?" she asked him, unable to stop herself from hoping that this time would be different.

Chakotay looked thoughtful for a minute, then said, "There's a story I heard as a child, a parable, and I never forgot it."

Kathryn, for the second time, had to refrain from heaving a sigh. She loved Aboriginal mythology. She thought it was fascinating. But there was a time and a place for it, and she never found it particularly constructive in the middle of an interstellar (in this case, galactic) crisis. Simple morals, like those in Chakotay's folk tales, were strikingly inadequate and juvenile with respect to the USS Voyager, the Delta Quadrant, and the predicaments they faced with uncanny regularity.

"A scorpion was walking along the bank of a river, wondering how to get to the other side." Chakotay began, dropping his hand from the back of the chair and moving around the table toward her.

"Suddenly he saw a fox," the Commander continued. "He asked the fox to take him on his back across the river. The fox said, 'No, if I do that you'll sting me, and I'll drown.' The scorpion assured him, 'If I did that, we'd both drown.' So the fox thought about it and finally agreed."

Kathryn, being quick of mind, was already finishing the fable in her head. Her first conclusion was that the scorpion would sting the fox anyway, but she quickly dismissed it as being obvious and painfully lacking in insight. Her thoughts were a shuffled deck as she flipped through scenario after scenario in her mind, each framed with the image of a cartoon scorpion sitting atop a cartoon fox's head as it waded across an animated river.

"So the scorpion climbed up on his back, and the fox began to swim. But halfway across the river, the scorpion stung him. As poison filled his veins, the fox turned to the scorpion and said, 'Why did you do that? Now you'll drown too.' 'I couldn't help it,' said the scorpion. '_It's my nature_.'"

A beat later, Kathryn blinked.

_Was that it? _

The sentiment had been so paltry, the delivery so dispassionate, and her disappointment so exact, that when she blinked again, it was like a damn breaking and hysteria bubbled up in her chest, particularly as she ran through appropriate responses: the thought of concurring with him or even showing appreciation for his input made the need to press her lips together a necessity as she fought to preserve her restraint.

"...I understand the risk, and I'm not proposing that we try to change the nature of the beast, but this is a unique situation-" Kathryn had to cut herself off as she felt the grin begin to pull almost painfully at her mouth. It was like dealing with a small child!

_Do. Not. Laugh, _she ordered herself.

When she caught the concerned look Chakotay shot her, she knew that despite her efforts, he had seen through her enough to warrant suspicion. In a last ditch effort, she turned away, and sighed heavily, to make as if she was in deep and conflicted thought when all she wanted was to let her shoulders shake- lord knew she needed it in the midst of this crisis with Species 8472 and the Borg.

_Damn you! _she cried internally, and just like that, the hysteria was gone and in its place was a rash of anger because she felt stupid and because she wanted a First Officer who could be on the same page as her at least _some_ of the time, or at least one which would spare her the patronizing moral stories, _intentionally_ patronizing or not.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!" she burst out, turning on Chakotay as she finally reached her breaking point.

"Kathryn?" he asked, clearly taken aback.

"Your fables!" The captain threw her hands up in the air. "I'm a scientist and starship captain! I'm not a child and neither are you, Chakotay! I'd like to have an adult conversation with you, if you had half an interest!" She finally finished her outburst, breathing deeply as she leaned back against the tabletop, her hands bracing her on either side. She stared balefully out of the window.

Chakotay considered her with appraising eyes, but Kathryn missed his dark look altogether. In fact, she didn't look at him again until he had moved right in front of her, closer than was strictly respectful, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked down at her, where she was propped up.

"Don't forget, Kathryn, that before I joined you, I was a Maquis Captain. 'You want me to address you bluntly then I will... Once you get an idea stuck in your head your self-importance makes it hard for you to see things another way, but I'm telling you, _Captain_, that the Borg can't be trusted." He emphasized the last portion with striking skill.

Kathryn, stunned by this side of Chakotay she'd never met, was slow to answer. "We have what they need," she said, trying and failing to recall the points that were made in the meeting, her comment hanging meagre in the air between them. Who the hell was this man in Chakotay's uniform? His _aura _was menacing. She was having a hard time even looking away from his eyes, intent upon her and demanding her heed.

"Yes, we have what they need to overcome one dangerous species, to assure their survival that they may continue assimilating thousands of others. Even if Species 8472 is the greater evil here, is it worth the risk of your entire crew?" he asked. His friendly tone was long gone; he was no less than _unmoved_ to her ear.

"...Yes," she replied simply, rooted in place.

Chakotay then leaned toward her, bending at the waist, his eyes only more smouldering.

_He's mad. Oh god, he's mad,_ she thought in alarm, still powerless to pull away.

"Then your decision is made, and I won't stop you," he said, his volume adjusting to their proximity, almost silky for it.

Thoughts of his anger where instantly gone from her mind, because this new side of Chakotay, it seemed, knew how to utilize his physical presence, and he _wasn't _leaning in out of anger.

_No_, she thought. _Only to debase me._

He well and truly thought this was a mistake she realized.

"You really aren't with me, are you, Chakotay?" she said resolutely. He regarded her for a moment more.

Then he straightened. Her head turned to follow him as he stepped out of the conference room, unabashed to stare since he was no longer watching _her._

As the doors slid closed, the stillness over the room seemed to break, and her shoulders slumped even as a hand came up to press against her brow. She sighed again, and then, finally, she pushed off the table, taking a solid stance and planting her hand son her hips.

Space, beyond the window, appeared so calm and peaceful, but Kathryn knew: there was a veritable hurricane on the horizon. And now a small storm on her ship.


End file.
